Born of Ashes
by Laora
Summary: A collection of Homunculi-centric drabbles. —- 20. Preface: He is nothing, and then he is everything, and that makes all the difference.
1. Mythical

**I.** **Mythical**_  
>-—Wrath learns something new.<em>

* * *

><p>Sometimes, he wishes he is one of the humans he's been taught to despise.<p>

He's a Homunculus, yes, but he's technically the most human of all of them. Their Father didn't create him like he created the others; somewhere, he has a biological mother and father, perhaps siblings and an extended family...

(Or maybe they were killed when he was taken away. The scientists never said, and he knew better than to ask.)

He feels disillusioned, now, perhaps even more so than his "siblings." They are older than him—_centuries_ older—but they've never been anything but Homunculi, created solely for their Father's plans. He, on the other hand, grew up for years as a human. A lab rat, yes—a pawn in others' plans, yes—but he had truly been just like any other human male.

Now that the Philosopher's Stone is infused within him, of course, he is so much more than that. Once he became Wrath, once the Ouroboros was branded onto his eye, something inside him _changed._ He has never been able to describe it, has never truly had the_ chance_ to, but it has always been there...lurking.

Perhaps, he thinks, that is why he fell for a human woman so completely.

She keeps alive the last vestiges of his humanity—if it could be called that—even if it is only when they are alone. He doesn't dare open himself up fully in front of Pride (though he knows his older brother is indeed fond of his "mother"), because he wouldn't understand. What Pride feels, he is sure, is a mockery of _human_ emotion. And while Wrath isn't sure that he is so different, he knows how humans should feel, at least intellectually...because he once had the capacity to feel the same himself.

His wife—a wonderful woman—has doted on Pride for years, treating him as if he were her own flesh and blood. Pride has never mentioned it, never complained, even when they two of them are alone...

It is only after a long time that Wrath realizes the reason. Their Father—whom they would do anything for—is their _father_ only in name. He's never coddled his "children," never truly been kind to them...and though he gives them limited freedom when they are sent above ground, they are never truly _free._

It hasn't bothered any of them... They are better than lowly human emotion—why should their Father weaken himself to make a farce of the human family? But whenever Wrath watches a small, true smile spread across Pride's face, he realizes that this is something they're missing... And even if it's not _necessary,_ it's still nice to have.

One day, Pride comes home from school looking vaguely confused, and Wrath's interest is piqued. Before he can ask what the problem is, though, his wife runs in from the kitchen, giving Pride a hug and asking how his day was.

"We've been assigned a book. I don't really understand..."

Wrath knows, somehow, that the confusion in his brother's voice is not quite an act this time. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland—he has never heard of it. As his wife begins talking excitedly about it, how she read it as a child and how they could read it as a family if they'd like, because really it is an excellent book...he realizes that this is a type of book he's never read.

Fiction.

Fantasy.

The concept of something so bizarre as a talking deck of cards or a smoking caterpillar has simply never crossed his mind. Even when he had been human, his imaginings had been limited to what he would like to do as Fuhrer.

But now he realizes that this fantastical imagination—of things that could never truly happen—seems to be uniquely _human._ His limited knowledge and memory do not help him here as he sits next to Pride, gesturing for his wife to open the book.

"Sure, we can read it together. It'll be our little secret."

His wife smiles broadly at him and opens to the first page, beginning to read in the clear, melodic voice he has always enjoyed. She treats the strange happenings in the story as if they are nothing out of the ordinary, and eventually, Wrath feels himself relaxing. Even if these things are improbable—impossible, even—he finds that there is something soothing about the fact that this can't possibly be real.

He sinks back into the couch and steals a glance at Pride. He is leaning into his mother's shoulder, a rare look of true contentment on his face. He doesn't seem to be acting, not this time—as the story continues, weaves and twists and hurtles through Wonderland, Wrath realizes they are all truly peaceful...at least in that moment.

Soon, they must return to double lives, to plotting and killing and serving their Father—because that is what they are made for—but for now...

They can lose themselves to this fantasy world, and that's all right with him.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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* * *

><p><strong>TABLE OF CONTENTS:<strong>

1. **Mythical:** Wrath learns something new.

2. **Dismiss:** Envy can't help but think that they aren't prepared.

3. **Birth:** Father has never felt so alive.

4. **Romantic:** Lust doesn't understand humans' idea of love.

5. **Impulse: **Wrath can't always control himself.

6. **Hush:** Pride revels in the silence.

7. **Sunset:** Greed sees the human world for the first time.

8. **Believe:** Sometimes, Lust wishes there is a God.

9. **Chew:** Gluttony doesn't understand.

10. **Hero:** Envy finally gains peace of mind.

11. **Cards:** In which the Homunculi discover poker.

12. **Refugees:** Greed meets some interesting people in Dublith.

13. **Study:** Pride is bored.

14. **Cozy:** Sloth thinks he would be different if he weren't so tired.

15. **Revenant:** He's only waiting for the right moment to strike...

16. **Happy: **All Gluttony needs is Lust.

17. **Fall: **All of his brothers are dead.

18. **Doppelganger****:** Greed and Ling Yao couldn't be more different.

19. **Profanity:** Pride says something he shouldn't.

20. **Preface:** He is nothing, and then he is everything, and that makes all the difference.


	2. Dismiss

**II. Dismiss**_  
>-—Envy can't help but think they aren't prepared.<em>

* * *

><p>Envy's never understood humans, their relationships and feelings and dreams.<p>

His Father, of course, tells them to hate humans. They are, after all, weak; he is a Homunculus, superior in every possible way.

And for nearly two hundred years, he's swallowed this, swallowed it easily, because what does he know? He _is_ stronger, smarter, better than them all. And for centuries, he's done his best to ignore the emptiness eating away at his insides.

(He mentions it once, to Lust, the one he trusts most. Pride would destroy him in an instant; Sloth wouldn't understand; Greed is already gone...)

(Sometimes, he wishes his older brother were still here. He thinks maybe Greed would understand; he thinks maybe this loneliness, combined with some sense of adventure, was what convinced him to leave.)

Lust had shushed him immediately, though her eyes had flashed with something he couldn't recognize. "Keep it to yourself," she had told him in an undertone, looking around furtively. Father or Pride would surely kill them for even _thinking_ of having this conversation. "If you want to stay alive, _don't say anything about it."_

(He realizes, later, that she had not rebuked him for feeling this—this _jealous__y_ (how apt)—of the human race. She hadn't dismissed this feeling as insanity or a defect in his creation. Maybe she feels the same, sometimes, in the small, dark corners of her mind.)

He wants to scream and rage and tear those humans apart. He's perfect and beautiful and _better,_ but he still yearns for the things they take for granted—the things he can never have. And what makes him the most angry, he thinks, is that _they have no idea._

He hides his rage and pain and confusion well, though, as his Father's plans reach their climax. He's spent plenty of time with the humans they're planning to kill, has spent decades on reconnaissance missions and infiltration work. He has not failed his Father, not once, because he knows the consequences will be dire.

(How he wants to kill Mustang for destroying Lust! How he wants to kill the Fullmetal boy and his brother for being so irritatingly _human!_ But he restrains himself, for they are precious sacrifices in his Father's plan.)

And after all those years with the humans—no matter how detached from them he truly was—he, inevitably, has learned things about him. How they live, how they operate. And he hates them for it, hates how they have _friends_ and _lovers_ and _ambitions_ and _dreams._

(He hates them all, but would give anything to have the same...because his relationships with his siblings—strenuous at best—have never been anywhere close to what those insignificant ants have.)

So, if for no other reason, he hopes they win. He hopes the humans are annihilated, destroyed, absorbed into his Father's life. Because anything—_anything—_is better than the furious envy burning in what should be his heart.

But he's observed and listened and _learned_ these past two hundred years, and he knows that these humans are not as weak as his "family" assumes. They work together in a way he and his siblings never have; they look out for each other, will _die_ for each other, will do _anything_ for those they care about.

They're strong—if not in body, then in mind—and it terrifies him, the way they, as Homunculi (superior, always _always_ superior), may be underestimating these creatures.

Because he doesn't think he'll be able to stand it if these humans—weak and strong and totally, totally oblivious to his pain—defeat them in this war.


	3. Birth

**III. Birth**_  
>-—Father has never felt so alive.<em>

* * *

><p>He never realized just how much he was missing while he was confined to the flask.<p>

This container—this body—it's _glorious._ He has arms, and legs, and hair, and above all of that he can feel the power of the Philosopher's Stone coursing through him.

(It isn't truly a human body, of course, but it has all of the benefits without any of the things that make them so _weak._)

He steps around Van Hohenheim—he will wake in due time; his body is surely adjusting to the incredible power now running through his veins. And King Xerxes—the attendants—he doesn't give their lifeless bodies even a second glance as he makes his way toward the door.

_Weak. Useless. Beneath him._ Humans' only purpose is to serve his own needs, after all. And now that the million Xerxesians are fuelling this (new, wonderful, _perfect_) body, he'll have to find another group of humans.

(Bigger. More powerful of a transmutation...but he isn't going to worry about that right now.)

He steps out onto the balcony, his bare feet relishing in the sensation of the warm stone. He knew about such things, intellectually, before...but now, as the wind blows through his hair and his toes curl and he licks his lips, he knows that _this_ is truly the world.

He had held—still holds—a vast knowledge of this planet, the galaxy, the _universe_...but knowing and _knowing_ are two entirely different things. He wants to experience everything this world has to offer, and then some—these new sensations have decided that for him.

He will stop at nothing to get what he wants, because he is a _Homunculus._ The millions of humans surely inhabiting the lands past Xerxes are only fuel for the fire; he can use them however he wishes; whatever will help him conquer—and _understand_—this world will fall to his might.

His eyes take in the vast dunes surrounding this once-proud place; his nose smells the heat and the scent of a bustling city that is no more; his ears hear the silence, _blessed_ silence, that means everything has gone according to plan.

He hears, distantly, Van Hohenheim's screams, can almost _taste_ the terror and despair, and knows he must have woken up.

(The man is nearly—never totally—his equal. They have split the souls of this wretched nation; even now, he can feel them writhing within him, begging and screaming for release.)

But he tunes them out; they are unimportant remnants of mere human beings. They belong to _him,_ now; he can do whatever he pleases with them.

Van Hohenheim stumbles out into the sunlight, seems not to notice the radiant beams bathing his face. His entire body is shaking as he stares around at the corpses lining the street. The pain in his eyes must be a human emotion_,_ for _he_ feels none of it. And if it is human, it does not matter. Only the earth and the universe in which it lies interest him now.

(He doesn't understand the physical distress Van Hohenheim seems to be suffering. Had he, the Homunculus, not made him into a near-perfect being? Had he not given him what no human will ever have again?)

The one human (not quite, of course, not anymore) he could have once considered the closest thing he had to a familiar—he leaves, stumbling to the east in what seems to be a blind daze. He only stares after the man for a moment before dismissing him. _Weak._ Of course, human emotions will only get in the way of this perfect existence he has so graciously given the man.

He soon writes him off (he won't forget, though—he refuses to forget any scrap of information that could help him understand this vast world), and begins a trek to the west, where Xerxes' scholars had said new civilization was forming.

_Civilization is humans is energy is knowledge._

He can't wait.


	4. Romantic

**IV. Romantic**_  
>-—Lust doesn't understand humans' concept of love.<em>

* * *

><p>"Hey, sweetheart, you doing anything tonight?"<p>

"My flat's only a car ride away, if you know what I mean..."

She's seen the looks, the longing glances and the lustful eyes (because, really, that's all she's composed of), but she doesn't quite understand why.

She knows she's beautiful, curvy, sexy, seductive; she knows she can bend nearly any man to her will. That's why she's so often sent on reconnaissance missions with Envy, after all.

But all of what she does, it's an _act._ She knows exactly what to say, what to do, what to wear, because it's her entire _being_ to seduce men. Men in love (or lust) tend to give more information...especially information of the sensitive sort. And, of course, they never see it coming when she kills them with a flick of one well-manicured finger.

She's never felt any sort of remorse for doing these things, but every man—of those who don't die immediately—stares up at her with disbelief, hurt,_ betrayal _in his eyes. It doesn't bother her that she's used dozens—hundreds, perhaps—of human men for her Father's benefit, but sometimes they make her wonder.

What is this _love,_ this _romance_ they all speak to her about?

She knows, intellectually, that it's when two people enjoy each other's company—exchange the same words and do the same things that she does with her victims...but they don't get anything out of it. There's no information gathering, no _using_ the other for your own gain...

It's a strange concept, and she wonders at the point of it all.

It's mid-February in South City, now, and she's supposed to be seducing a captain for sensitive information on a terrorist cell. He's of a higher rank, so she has to be careful, make sure to leave no trace of her handiwork...because even though Wrath could get it straightened out, she won't accept anything less than perfect for herself.

She passes a store in the market—a restaurant, she notices as she looks closer. The inside seems to be full of red and pink hearts, flimsy tables, pairs of humans sitting, talking, kissing...

Oh, right.

It takes her a moment to remember, to realize that they are human couples courting each other, simply basking in each other's company. She pauses to look in through the glass. The couple nearest her (young, perhaps early twenties—the woman is small and blonde while the man is wiry and tall) is engrossed in conversation. The man is wearing an expression she's seen often—sappy, awestruck, totally, _totally_ engrossed—but...she doesn't understand _why._

The girl's hair is long and not especially pretty; her eyes are a dull, pale blue; her chest is nearly flat, and her legs are not at all flattered by the skirt she's wearing. But the man, inexplicably, looks at his partner the same way as Lust's victims look at _her._

Why?

She can't understand...

But it doesn't matter, not right now. She's due to meet the captain in five minutes, and it won't do to be late. So she pulls her gaze from the humans and their strange customs and their _romance_ and turns down the street, deciding not to give it a second thought. She has a job to do, a Father to please, and such things will not tarnish her well-bred mindset on humanity.

(It still haunts her, though, from the back of her mind. And she never understands why.)


	5. Impulse

**V. Impulse**_  
>-—Wrath can't always control himself.<em>

* * *

><p>It's a strange feeling, he thinks, to be obeyed by so many, so unconditionally.<p>

They taught him politics; they taught him history; they taught him psychology and sociology and survival...but _power_ they left for him to discover on his own.

(Fifty million, he knows. Fifty million citizens of this country, and he's the leader of them all.)

It's hard to remember (and, at the same time, impossible to forget) that he is greater than all of them now. It's been years since he was granted the power of the Philosopher's Stone, years since he began his careful rise to power, years while he's had to keep this terrible fury in check...

He knows that he should be honored that he was the one to be called Wrath. He's powerful and intelligent and the _perfect_ Fuhrer of the country, even at his young age...

But sometimes, if he's not careful, he feels that insatiable anger pulling at his mind until he can't resist it anymore.

Today was his inauguration as Fuhrer, as supreme ruler of all the humans (_weak, inferior)_ in the country...and he is understandably distracted. He's just been shown to his new office by a young secretary with blushing cheeks. (He wonders what was wrong with her. It wasn't especially warm in the hallway.) Now he's seated in the—_his_—great, high-backed chair, staring at his polished mahogany desk without really seeing.

_It's happened._ All the years of training, selection, and preparation by his Father have finally come to fruition...and he feels on top of the world. His mental shields are down; he is not paying attention as he should be; he does not have time to school his features as the young man knocks and enters the room.

At this moment, he can feel the Stone coursing through his veins like never before; the overwhelming fury is he can see. He is sure, in some distant corner of his mind, that his eye is glowing blood-red.

And as the man—a corporal—closes the door behind him, Wrath leaps over the desk and slices him cleanly in half.

_(Hatredragefury howdareheinterrupt lowlyhumannotworthy kill**killKILL**)_

He's breathing heavily as he stares with murderous eyes down at the man. His blond hair is soaking in the blood pooling on the floor; they are both motionless for the smallest of moments...

But then the room is filled with crackling red light, and even with his Eye, Wrath barely has time to parry as the enormous green hand reaches to grab him.

"YOU BASTARD!" Envy roars, deserting the form of the blond corporal as he dons his usual appearance. "Do you realize—if that hadn't been me—the _mess_ we would have had to sort out—"

His older brother's unmasked rage as he pins Wrath to the wall does nothing to control his own temper. _Envy_ was the one who entered while he was distracted; _Envy_ knows how difficult this is to keep in check; _Envy_ is older, should have known better—

His brother's grip does not loosen as Wrath struggles; the huge green arm looks grossly out of place on the young human body. "_Let me go,"_ he snarls, not caring as his features darken and his eyes flash. He hasn't felt this angry since he was given the Stone; if Envy would let go, only a fraction—

"_Calm down,_ or you're not going anywhere."

Envy's grip is only tightening as they continue to glare at each other. Wrath struggles, but the strength of Envy's true form is overwhelming. Eventually, he has to admit defeat, though his gaze is full of just as much hatred as he glares at Envy.

"Right. If that happens again, Father won't be happy, and you know it. So don't be a moron." Envy looks at him for a long moment before finally letting go, turning toward the door. "And cover the blood with a rug or something. It's disgusting."

Wrath barely refrains from killing his brother a second time as he becomes the corporal and slams the door behind him.

(No matter how much he knows Envy is right, he's never been so angry in his life.)


	6. Hush

**VI. Hush**_  
>-—Pride revels in the silence.<em>

* * *

><p>The world is quiet, and that's just how Pride likes it.<p>

He hasn't had much of a chance to be alone, lately; his mother has glued herself to his side, worried and fretting and annoying him for no reason at all. Even if she is one of the more...tolerable (not likable—_never_ likable) humans, she can be rather...clingy.

And, after four centuries of living with a Father who only rarely acknowledges his presence, it's a little strange to be with someone like her.

(He wonders briefly if all humans are like that, whether they all feel that need to be close to others...but writes it away quickly. If they do, it is only one of their many weaknesses—something for him to exploit in the coming hours...)

Because the Promised Day is nearly upon them; they are on the cusp of victory, even if they cannot celebrate it just yet. They are still one sacrifice short, and though Roy Mustang will easily become the fifth, they must ensure that they can force him to open the Gate. (In the worst-case scenario, Pride can do it for him, but he'd like to avoid that if at all possible. He _does_ value his life.)

Van Hohenheim and his sons...the Curtis woman...they know what is coming. They know his Father's plan; they know what he's going to do and how it's going to happen...but they have no way to stop it. That is the beauty of their vision, he thinks; their opponents are only lowly humans; no matter what they try to do, they will always, _always_ fail.

They have lost Lust; they have lost Greed and Gluttony; but there are still five of them remaining—himself, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and their Father—and he knows that even with their numbers depleted, they cannot lose. They have been planning for this day for _centuries_, and there is no way he will let it fail to come to fruition. (He'll die before he lets that happen, because his Father is _everything_ and that's all that matters.)

He was created to serve his Father; he lives to make sure these glorious dreams become a reality. Though he is strong, Father is stronger, and he knows that nothing can go wrong today. This cannot be more perfect.

The world is quiet, now. He cannot wait for the moment it is echoing with man's dying screams.


	7. Sunset

**VII. Sunset**_  
>-—Greed sees the human world for the first time.<em>

* * *

><p>It's amazing, Greed thinks, to be going outside after so long underground.<p>

He knows it's for a mission. He knows he's supposed to be concentrating and listening to Lust, because she's been going on these for longer than he has...and Pride will surely destroy him if he messes this up. But he's never been above ground before, and the sight is simply _breathtaking._

He's never seen so many living things together all at once; there are small things in the air he knows are _birds,_ brown creatures with bushy _tails_ called _squirrels_... He's always known of them, intellectually, because he's a Homunculus and these things have been ingrained in him since the moment he was born...

But knowing and seeing with his own eyes are two entirely different things, and he finds it hard to concentrate on Lust's instructions when it's all just so damn _beautiful._

He wants to kneel down and feel the grass; he wants to reach up and touch the sky; he wants to climb the trees and chase the deer and do everything this _outside_ has to offer. The only thing holding him back is the fact that Lust is a lot faster than him, and he's not too keen on finding out whether his Ultimate Shield can hold up against her Ultimate Spear...

But he's itching to ask for an extra five minutes—_just five minutes—_where he can just _absorb _and _observe_ and _be happy._

He's trying to listen to Lust—he really is. But the sky is changing color, now, and he's entranced by it, because why would it do that? It was a brilliant shade of blue the likes of which he's never seen, but now it is different. He knows the concept of _color_ is strictly aesthetic; his Father has lived underground, surrounded by monochrome stone walls for centuries, and he has not been affected by it. So _why_ is this happening? He needs to know...

The orange sphere he knows as the _Sun_ is moving down toward the Earth, now, and he wonders if it will crash into the planet, kill everyone on it... (He remembers quickly that _of course that's not what happens, don't be stupid, _but still he wonders, because that's what it looks like and he's always been told to trust his eyes.)

He knows _orbits_ and _eclipses_ and _Sun_ and _Moon_ but he doesn't know this, this strange phenomenon in which the Sun moves toward the Earth. It causes the sky to change from light blue to a bright mixture of oranges and pinks and purples... And he wants to know; he _needs_ to know, because even if this isn't necessary to the plan it's still fascinating, and surely something so beautiful has to have some merit?

He vaguely realizes that Lust has stopped talking, has noticed that he is not listening, but he does not care anymore, because he needs to find out _why this is happening._ So he opens his mouth to ask her, unconsciously prepares to bring up his shield in case she reacts badly...

But in the end, he doesn't need to say anything. She follows his wide-eyed gaze, a frown adorning her features, and her eyes alight on this great mystery of the upper, _human_ world. Her face softens and she smiles a bit, turning back toward him. "The humans call it a 'sunset,'" she says quietly. "It happens at the end of every day, when the sun goes down."

_Every day._ He can't even imagine, seeing this miracle so often. He thought this was unique; he thought this beauty would never show itself again; but the humans get to see it every time the sun sinks below their line of sight...

He doesn't hate them, like Lust and Pride and his Father do. There's something else, deep within him, twisting his gut and his lungs and his heart... He knows it has something to do with the humans, but he _knows _it's not hatred. And this understanding, this new knowledge of _sunsets_ is only intensifying that. And he thinks it has to do with his birthright, the _avarice_ always at the forefront of his mind...

And he realizes that he _wants_ this. He wants sunsets and skies and squirrels and birds. He wants everything this strange new world has to offer. He _wants,_ because he is Greed and that is what he was created to do. He thinks he will do anything to grasp these things, these strange and new and _human_ things, because maybe then this hole in his very _being_ will finally go away.

(He doesn't realize, for a long time, what will really fill it. And by that time, it's far too late.)


	8. Believe

**VIII. Believe  
>-—<strong>_Sometimes, Lust wishes there is a God._

* * *

><p>She's been in Liore for a couple of months, now, with Gluttony and Envy...and she still finds this concept of religion to be strange.<p>

A higher power that watches over the believers—something benevolent and giving and loving...something that created everything and can take it all away, but will not because he loves his creation too much.

She knows of the Gate; she knows of the Truth and its cruel ways of equivalent exchange. Even if she cannot practice alchemy herself, the memories passed from her Father tell her everything; she knows the only thing in the world greater than the Homunculi is the self-proclaimed God of alchemy, who will smite you down for any hint of blasphemy. There is no such thing as the gods the humans imagine; there is only her and her brothers and her Father, and the being above even them.

(She hopes with everything she has that she will never meet that monster.)

She's standing in a crowd, looking on as Cornello performs _miracles,_ turns water to wine and turns vegetable to crystal. She knows it is the Philosopher's Stone, but the humans do not; they scream and wail and cry out to Leto, thanking their _god_ for his _generosity_ and begging for more to come.

Their eyes are full of something she has never felt before. The humans, surely, have a wider emotional range (_weakness)_, but she has never seen it so intense, so all-consuming, so...

The closest thing she's ever felt to this, she thinks, is the respect she has for her Father.

She frowns as she moves through the crowd, avoids the adoring faces as they gaze up at Cornello's _acts of God._ It's unsettling her, even if she'll never admit it; it's as if these people truly believe...they really think that this being exists, that it loves them and _has_ always loved them and _will_ always love them...

(Of course, she's never truly understood the idea of love, but she gets the general idea of it. In her moments of weakness, she thinks it would almost be nice to have.)

_Human emotions are nothing._ She must remember this, or else she will be obliterated for blasphemy; she doesn't wish to have this—not really—because faith in something that doesn't exist makes one _weak,_ and weakness is unacceptable.

But there was something in the humans' eyes...something she's never seen before. She wants to know. _She needs to know._ What is it about religion, about gods and faith and trust in some higher being, that is so enchanting to humans? She cannot understand...she can only think that trusting in something you cannot see will only leave you vulnerable and _weak._

So why do all the humans seem so _happy?_

She tells herself she does not care...


	9. Chew

**IX. Chew**_  
>-—Gluttony doesn't understand.<em>

* * *

><p>Gluttony's never minded what's going on in the world around him. He's one of the youngest of them all; he knows he's not as smart as Pride or as fast as Sloth or as strong as Envy's true form, so he is content to sit on the sidelines and eat.<p>

That's one thing he's good at, he supposes. He can eat entire cities if he wants to, if his Father commands it; he can eat people even if they try and shoot him with guns or hurt him with other weapons. And since he's always _(always_) hungry, it's never a problem, even if he's supposed to eat lots of people. It's like his stomach is just a bottomless pit.

He knows he's not as useful as the others...he doesn't even completely understand his Father's plan and what they're all trying to do to the country. He knows Lust goes with him everywhere while others travel alone; he knows he's not as good at planning things as Pride and Lust and Wrath are. But he doesn't really care about that, because Father was the one who created him, so he does his best to do what he wants. That's why he was born, right?

He doesn't think of what happens to things when he eats them; he doesn't know where the people go after he's torn their flesh and ground their bones. He supposes they might be sent back home, with their memories of him and his siblings gone, because doesn't Lust always say that he has to eat people so they can stay a secret? They must forget all about him and the other Homunculi after he eats them.

(He supposes that makes him useful, too. But not nearly as useful as the others.)

Because Pride can do anything with his shadows (he's always terrified Gluttony; he likes Lust much better); Envy's true form is horrifying; Lust can break through anything with her Spear, and Greed can block anything with his Shield; Sloth can move faster than any of them, and Wrath is one of the smartest people ever born...

And what is Gluttony, in the end?

He doesn't ever think on this much, though, because he's decided that it doesn't matter. As long as he's with Lust, everything will be okay, and the world will keep on spinning.

During that time, too, he'll keep on eating; he'll stay hungry and eat as much as he can in the hopes that it will finally, _finally,_ fill his stomach.

And maybe, if the world does end someday, he won't be hungry anymore.


	10. Hero

**X. Hero**_  
>-—Envy finally gains peace of mind.<em>

* * *

><p>Every time Envy looks at Edward and Alphonse Elric, it's like he's looking at a whole different class of mankind.<p>

He can impersonate anyone; he can make himself look and sound like any human, animal, or _thing_ on the planet. But there's something about those two boys...he knows that if he ever tries to copy them, he will be found out in a heartbeat.

He's never been able to pin it down; he's never known exactly what it is about them that irritates him so much. They're barely out of diapers; they're young and rash and naive; so why are they such a threat to his Father's plans?

_They're Hohenheim's sons._ But that, really, doesn't matter much; they have the Xerxesian skin and hair and eyes, but that shouldn't make them so bold and irreplaceable and _dangerous. _They have seen the Truth; they are some of the best alchemists in the country; their martial arts skills are nearly unrivaled...

But none of those things are irreplaceable; none of them make Envy so angry that he barely stops himself from destroying them on sight.

So _why?_

This would be easier, he thinks, if he had a human's mindset, if he could think and feel and live as they do. He knows Edward flies off the handle at any negative comment about his brother; Alphonse has to restrain himself from punching anyone who threatens Edward. Envy knows that—for some reason—they are inseparable; they will do anything for each other; they will fight and bleed and _die,_ if only to keep the other safe._  
><em>

And they do this because they are _brothers._ He doesn't understand; he has brothers—Pride and Greed and Sloth and Gluttony and Wrath—they are born from the same Father to further his plans. But Envy doesn't feel this same bond to them; he would save his own skin before he would sacrifice it for them. So _why?_

He thinks it must be a human emotion, some weakness inherent in mankind that tells them all to protect each other. This is an imperfection in their creation, because they, the Homunculi, do not feel that way; surely, it will only drain their numbers and weaken their strength so his Father can overcome them easily?

(But he also knows that because of that strange, irrational drive, he will never be able to truly impersonate them—not really. And because of this, he can't shake the feeling of _worthlessness_ and _idiocy_ and _imperfection_ he's felt all his life.)

The Promised Day is soon, and he knows the Elrics and Mustang and Curtis and so many others are trying desperately to stop it from happening...but he knows it is a desperate, hopeless dream. Surely, their plans are flawless? Surely, there is nothing a small group of humans can do to stop that which has been unfurling for centuries...

But...

When he looks at Edward, when he looks at Alphonse and Mustang, he sees something _else._ He doesn't know what it is...not for the longest time...

Not until he is upon the brink of death, clutched tightly in an automail hand and staring down the business end of an ignition glove.

Edward Elric, the sixteen-year-old _child_ who is a major player in his Father's plans, finally understands. He understands Envy's pain, the desperation and want and _need_ that's been brewing below the surface for hundreds of years. Whatever it is that Edward and Alphonse Elric have between them—Envy _wants_ it, _needs_ it. It is so strange and yet so reassuring, he imagines, to have someone always there to watch your back...

He wants what he cannot ever have; he wants what the humans take for granted, and he hates them all for it.

But now, he is alone and stranded and hopeless in the tunnels underneath Central, and he knows that this is it; he will never have what he has observed for centuries. Mustang, he can see, is still barely controlling himself; Edward Elric is staring down at him, some unreadable emotion in his eyes...

Envy has never wanted to die...but dying and finally being free from this pain, he thinks, might be bearable now that this man _(insignificant, important, weak, strong, stupid, brilliant, idiot, hero_) understands how he feels.

And when he tells the Fullmetal Alchemist good luck, he truly means it.


	11. Cards

**XI. Cards**_  
>-—In which the Homunculi discover poker.<em>

* * *

><p>"The sergeant taught it to me—it's actually rather amusing."<p>

"A _human_ card game, Lust? Really?"_  
><em>

"Yes, it's called poker. What else are we supposed to do today? You might as well try it out, Envy."

Pride usually does his best to ignore his younger siblings' squabbles, but this one has, for some reason, piqued his interest. "Poker? Wrath's wife mentions it sometimes. She makes it sound relatively entertaining."

And it _is_ true that they have nothing to do today. Banished to a different chamber so their Father can think, they have been given no orders, no distractions, not even a _suggestion_ of what they could be doing. There is nobody to manipulate; there are no pressing tasks for any of them to complete... And then Lust had saved them and pulled out a deck of cards.

"Oh, the great Pride is taking interest in us lower beings?" Envy sneers, ignoring Gluttony and Sloth as they wander over, looking confused. "Figures, if it's about your dear _mother—_"

"I would not suggest you finish that sentence," Wrath say suddenly, glowering from his place at a nearby desk. "And I've played poker before. It's...well, a way to pass the time, at the very least."

There's a beat of silence, in which Gluttony sucks on his hand and Sloth gives a loud snore. "Well, there's no harm in trying," Lust says at last, taking out the cards with a shrug as the others crowd around into a circle.

.

.

Five minutes later, of course, everything has gone to hell.

Sloth is dead to the world, drooling all over the cards in great globs of disgustingness. Gluttony seems to have eaten his (last Pride checked, he had had a royal flush. Good thing he folded that hand.), and Envy has ruined at least ten cards by ripping them up when he lost.

None of them are very good poker players, but at least it's something that almost amuses him.

He has his shadows pooled around all of them, of course, so he knows exactly what their hands are. Lust has a full house? Fold. Highest hand is two doubles? Straight will work then. All in.

Nobody's noticed it yet...and he has to wonder if his siblings really are that stupid.

It's a pity, he thinks, that they don't have any money to bet...because he'd be mopping the floor with them if they did.

"Oi! A straight beats a flush, you bastard! Don't you try and—"

He heaves a long-suffering sigh. "No, Envy, don't be an idiot. I've played this before, and—"

"HOW IS IT THAT I LOSE EVERY DAMN HAND? Pride, what're you—"

"...Hang on a second..."

"PRIDE, YOU—"

He flashes a menacing grin, leering at his younger brother. "So you're just noticing now?" Damn, they really _are _more idiotic than he thought...

"AARGH!"

* * *

><p><em>Timelines? What timelines?<em>


	12. Refugees

**XII. Refugees**_  
>-—Greed meets some interesting people in Dublith.<em>

* * *

><p>Greed is almost two hundred years old, now, and he still doesn't know how to fill this emptiness that has plagued him since he was born.<p>

It haunts his dreams, his nightmares, even his _waking_ hours as he moves through the country, never stopping, never settling down, _because it has to be here somewhere._ This—whatever he is so desperately searching for—it has to exist; it can't be impossible, because if it is then what is he supposed to do? It's not that he _wants_ it—this burning in his very being is so much more than that. It drives him to the brink of insanity, searching searching searching _(begging)_ for the solution to present itself to him.

He finds himself in Dublith, a reasonably-sized place with warm weather and even warmer humans. He's always been fascinated by them, he thinks; he doesn't hate them like Pride and Father and the others; he doesn't even pity them, like Lust. No, he wonders about them; he wants to understand; they make bonds so easily and enjoy the company of their families and he can't understand _why._ He hates his father; he hates his brothers; he hates everything that reminds him of those bastards still living underground. But he watches as a young child (those are so fascinating, the way they're trusting and innocent and _small_) grasps her father's hand tightly, beams up at him, follows him everywhere because she believes he will keep her safe…

He can't understand, and he thinks it's driving him mad.

He decides to stay here for a while, holes himself up in a deserted bar on the bad side of town, because that's what he's made for, right? Homunculi are meant to stick to the shadows, stay out of sight, because _no one can know we exist_ and _we are superior_ and _humans do not matter,_ and even if he's doing his best to rid himself of these thoughts (_he's wrong Father has to be wrong look at how happy they all are)_ they still present themselves far too often.

He ventures into town occasionally, grinning genuinely at the children who seem so enthralled by his jacket, his hair, his glasses. He can't help but laugh with them, tell their parents that they're good kids, because those moments are when he feels almost human, like these last vestiges of his Father's horror may finally be falling away.

He frequents the meat shop, too, because steak is delicious and pork is even better. The young couple who own it are kind, if not occasionally violent; he watches as the woman's stomach swells, as her eyes brighten in hope for the new life they have created.

(She's growing paler and paler as her belly grows larger and larger, but this must be normal, because nothing as wonderful as the birth—the _true_ birth—of a child could go wrong, right?)

And when he goes to buy from them one day and sees the door bolted, sees the lights dark and shop deserted, he wonders what has happened. He wonders whether the baby has finally arrived, whether they are at the hospital with glorious new life…but then he sees the assistant come round from the back with bloody towels and a pale, tearstained face, and he knows that the answer is one he does not want to hear.

The man—Mason, he remembers—catches sight of him, recognizes him, but he does not smile. He only nods gravely in his direction as he throws the towels into the bin on the side of the road. And Greed knows that something is terribly wrong…that these humans, the ones who he has put so much faith in to always just _be there,_ are not so strangely immortal as he wishes they were.

Something has gone wrong with the woman, her baby…

(He never goes back to Curtis Meats after that. The agony _that he shouldn't be feeling_ is far too painful.)

(He's immortal—he's supposed to be perfect and unstoppable and _above_ these human emotions. But all he can think is that if he could, he would fix the woman and her child, whatever has happened…he would make everything right for them.)

(But he can't, because Homunculi are created solely for destruction, even if he wishes so desperately he could create things instead.)

He's packing up to leave—he knows he shouldn't get so attached to one place, to the humans and their strange customs and their broken lives… But when he hears the news, that dangerous, volatile State experiments have broken out, are running free…and the place they were being kept is not ten miles south of the city…

(He tells himself the reason he stays is _not_ because he wants to protect these humans he's somehow grown to care for_._ He tells himself this, but he knows it's not true.)

So he stays in Dublith, stays in the small bar he calls home, and waits and watches and listens for news about these creatures the military are calling so terribly dangerous. Maybe stopping them, saving these humans, will make him feel better; maybe killing these beasts will fill the empty hole in his existence…

(And then maybe he can finally move on to what he wants—to rule the world, to be so much more merciful than his Father plans to be.)

But then a group of people (strange-looking people—are they even human?) burst into the bar one night, breathing heavily and glancing over their shoulders and looking _absolutely terrified_ that someone will see them. When he confronts them, stepping out from the shadows and asking what the hell they think they're doing here…the large one, the huge man with a mane of silver hair and a huge mallet, swings at his head and swipes it clean off his shoulders.

The looks on their faces as he regenerates himself, as the bone and muscle and brain matter grow straight out of his neck, are not the horrified, disgusted ones that he is expecting. He stares at them, fascinated, as their faces transform into expressions of hope, of happiness, almost of…of adoration.

He wonders…he wonders until the woman's arms stretch far longer than they should, when the others turn their bodies into inhuman things that cannot possibly be natural…

And then he realizes that _these_ are the experiments the news is talking about. He realizes that these people, the short man with the nervous eyes and the woman who looks out of breath but ready to fight if need be and the rest of them who are staring at him, waiting for something to happen…

They're not human—or, at least, they're not anymore. And suddenly, it's as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders, because _they're not human_ but _neither is he_ and finally—finally!—he isn't alone anymore. So he walks back into the bar, yelling over his shoulder that if they want food then they'd better hurry up, because if they don't he'll eat all of it first…

There is a moment of silence from the front hall before he hears the door close, hears half a dozen sets of footsteps heading toward him. And as they all sit down to eat, enveloped in an awkward silence that gradually relaxes, Greed realizes that this is the happiest he's ever been.

He couldn't save Izumi Curtis—he couldn't save her child and her happiness and the things every being on this earth so desperately strives for. But, he thinks, maybe he can save these lost creatures. They are all so different, yet they are just the same…

Maybe, _maybe,_ this will fill his existence until he can say that he has truly _lived_.


	13. Study

**XIII. Study**_  
>-—Pride is bored.<em>

* * *

><p>Pride sighs heavily as he slumps forward in his chair, allowing his mind to wander. Really, he has to admit that this is the worst part of playing a normal human boy… He's nearly three hundred years old; he knows how to do long division, how to calculate percentages and count change. But he had to blend in with the other "children" at this prestigious private school—he has to act like he hasn't known these things for longer than these "teachers" have been alive…<p>

He can act as a normal human child just fine. It's irritating, yes; it's tedious and mind-numbingly boring and repetitive, yes; but it furthers his Father's plans, so that's all that matters. He can play house with Wrath and his wife, even if she _is_ curiously attached to him. Pretending to be Selim Bradley, the son of the Fuhrer, is annoying but bearable.

Pretending to not understand fourth-grade mathematics, however…

He sighs for the umpteenth time as the girl next to him—Sally Sparrow, if he remembers correctly—raises her hand to ask _yet another_ question. It's only long division; he doesn't understand what's so difficult about it. It's useless, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things…but laughably easy to understand. He hadn't even given it much thought before he was forced into school; it had simply been a fact of life that eight hundred forty eight divided into sixteen is fifty three. So _why_ _aren't they getting it?_

Finally, _finally,_ it's lunchtime, and he pulls his sack lunch and his bag from under the desk before heading for the cafeteria. He doesn't need to eat, not really…but people would ask tricky, unnecessary questions if he skips lunch every day, and his "mother" insists on giving him food. He and Wrath had both been confused by it, but they've chalked it up to strange human customs and don't question it anymore.

He sits at the end of one of the long tables, ignoring everyone as usual, because even if he's supposed to be bubbly and adorable, that doesn't mean he has to have _human friends._ He's all smiles and sunshine when someone talks to him, but it seems they have some sort of primal instinct that keeps them from _really_ trying to befriend him.

(It's not like he minds.)

So he's ready to "politely" ignore the humans who usually end up sitting next to him anyway, digging into the paper sack to pull out carrots and peanut butter sandwich and juice box and cookies. (He has to admit that they're rather delicious.) Then, someone sits down directly opposite him. He glances up; the girl from mathematics—Sally—is there, twirling one bit of her hair nervously as she looks at him.

He waits for a moment to see if she'll say something, but she does not; he heaves a mental sigh and grins over at her, donning his (annoying, high-pitched, childish) _Selim_ voice—"Do you need something?"

"Um…I don't really get the math, all the division," she says quickly, not quite meeting his eyes. (His disguise is perfect, of course, but people can't help but feel nervous around him anyway. He doesn't mind, as long as Father's plans are safe.) "And you looked like you got it, so I was wondering if you could help me…?"

She gives a little squeak and ducks her head as she finishes speaking (another thing Pride doesn't understand about humans. Why would they be so scared of talking to each other?), her cheeks turning pink. And he sighs, because really that's the last thing he wants to do at the moment, but he has an act to keep up…and maybe, if he tells Wrath's wife about it when he gets home, she'll stop pestering him about making friends.

(And he doesn't acknowledge it, at least consciously, but maybe she'll make him more cookies as well.)

So he nods, allowing his stupid little smile to stay in place as he pulls out his textbook. "What don't you get?" _Just leave me the hell alone._

He wishes he could say this, but he can't, because that will benefit no one but his own fleeting happiness, and it will bring up tricky questions he doesn't care to answer. So he guides her through the equation, acting like he _hasn't_ known this for hundreds of years…and finally, _finally,_ after most of lunchtime has passed, Sally gives a little gasp because _she gets it!_

He barely restrains himself from heaving a huge sigh of relief. Maybe, now, she'll leave him alone so he can sit by himself and not have to use this damn voice he hates so much. Maybe he'll get a few moments of peace and quiet (something he's been sorely lacking lately), because even if his Father tends to leave him to his own devices, his "mother" nearly smothers him with attention most days until he can get away…

(He can't stand being surrounded by _humans_ for too long. They're so weak and pathetic and useless; he feels both his intelligence and his sanity betraying him after more than a couple of hours of interaction. He wants to be _alone._)

And, thankfully, Sally is standing up, gathering her papers and beaming at him, albeit a bit nervously. (Her teeth are crooked. Stupid humans, can't even keep their bodies in good shape.) "Thanks so much, Selim! I was wondering, if you're not busy on Saturday, the whole class is getting together for pizza and I'm supposed to make sure everyone knows about it…"

_Oh God no._ That sounds like his worst nightmare… Luckily, he's got a legitimate excuse, and even if it's stretching the truth, this human girl doesn't have to know that. "Sorry, I'm going to East City with Father this weekend."

"Oh…" A strange mixture of emotions crosses her face, something like disappointment and relief and confusion all rolled into one. (He's always found it strange that the children are more wont to notice that something is _off_ about him. Adults don't seem to have any idea.) "Well, maybe next time, huh?"

"Sure," he says, smiling (_he wants to rip her apart)_ as she walks quickly away. He's incredibly thankful he doesn't have to talk anymore, but he keeps up the cheerful, sunny attitude as he finishes off his lunch because _anyone can be looking_ and _I can't jeopardize Father's plans so close to their completion._ So he goes back to class like a good little boy when the bell rings, sits at his desk and pretends to be interested in the lesson. It's history now—all of which he has lived through—which is even worse than mathematics…

He stops listening as the teacher goes on and on, instead looking around at all his classmates. He's never thought of what it must be like, to be so naïve and young and _stupid._ Ever since he was born, he's known everything there is to learn about the world; that's what Homunculi are made for. Their minds must be so vacant…

(Of course, that means it won't matter when they are consumed as energy for his Father's lifeforce. What could they possibly contribute to the world that _they_ don't already know, after all?)

He allows a small grin to slip onto his features as he thinks of the future. _The Promised Day. The fulfillment of his Father's long-awaited plans. The end of the human race…_

He can't wait for all of this to be over...for good.


	14. Cozy

**XIV. Cozy**_  
>-—Sloth thinks he would be different if he weren't so tired.<em>

* * *

><p>Sloth doesn't remember a time when he wasn't tired.<p>

He thinks that if he weren't so _exhausted _all the time, he'd be different. Maybe he'd be a ruthless killer, like Pride. Maybe he'd be smart and cruel and cunning, like Lust. Maybe he'd even be rebellious and leave, like Greed.

(He doesn't think about this for too long, though, because thinking is too much of a bother.)

He's been digging for years—for _decades,_ maybe—because that's what his Father ordered him to do. Somewhere, beneath the fatigue and the half-asleep thoughts that don't ever make much sense, he knows he feels some sort of allegiance to his Father. Maybe he's even fond of him. He's not sure though, because Homunculi aren't supposed to feel anything but hatred and he knows kinship is the opposite of that. So he never says anything about it.

He's alone, anyway, most of the time; Pride comes down to make sure his progress is sufficient, but he has seen nobody else in such a long time…

(Maybe they're not real. Maybe he's made them up—which is another thing Homunculi aren't supposed to be able to do: imagine—or maybe they've already failed, and he's working for nothing.)

He doesn't know, so he keeps on digging, because that's all he does anymore and maybe, _finally,_ the circle will be complete.

Maybe, then, Father will finally let him sleep forever.

But years and years and years spent underground, digging a tunnel the size of a country for the Father he's not supposed to love…those years have allowed him rare moments of clarity, when the exhaustion slips away, ever so slowly, bit by bit, and his fogged brain clears just enough for him to _think._

He thinks that they might be wrong. He thinks that he doesn't like to die, so maybe others don't as well; maybe they shouldn't be doing this to other creatures that are so clearly _alive._ He thinks that his brothers can be cruel for no reason, and he thinks that he doesn't want to be like them if he ever wakes up.

(He thinks that maybe this is all a haze induced by his never-ending exhaustion, and maybe everything he knows is a lie because his mind is simply shutting down.)

But before he can ever think about this for very long, before he can bring it up with Pride during his rare visits, another wave of fatigue always sweeps through. He dozes off momentarily before snapping awake, sluggishly returning to work because _Father won't be happy if I don't_

(but what does it matter, if they're not supposed to have emotions)

and _what was I thinking about again?_ because he can't remember anymore.

He digs and digs and digs and does everything his Father asks, but sometimes in the back of his mind he wonders and he thinks and he forgets but still he isn't sure.

(And in the end, he never finds out.)


	15. Revenant

**XV. Revenant**_  
>-—He's only waiting for the right moment to strike...<em>

* * *

><p>It's interesting, he thinks, that the humans believe they got rid of him that easily.<p>

He was weakened by Edward Elric's unexpected attack on his Stone, yes; he will admit that he did not expect the boy to understand that, to take advantage of one of his only weaknesses. But that doesn't make the human boy superior; on the contrary, it was foolish of him not to destroy his weak and helpless body while he had the chance.

He's aware—always, always aware—of what is going on around his container as it grows. He has no control over what happens to it, but he can feel himself growing stronger as the years go by; the boy controlling his movements (he truly believes his name is Selim Bradley) eats enough for two, and even if his original container never needed sustenance, it seems like this is something like the equivalent of a Stone to him, now.

(He still won't survive dying, though, which he cannot stand and swears to remedy at the nearest opportunity.)

Nobody seems to have any idea—"Selim" himself lives the life of a normal, happy, _human_ child; his "mother" dotes on him just as she did Pride; the military checks up on them on occasion, but since Pride has no control over this container…

He's safe. For now.

He takes comfort in the fact that the Fullmetal Alchemist is long gone, back to whatever backwater town he originated from. He "learned" about the war in school…and even if much of the story is censored—the upper echelons of the military are labeled as the main culprits—he learns what happened in the aftermath. Fullmetal quit the military—went home with his brother (he feels frustrated and furious and _useless_ when he sees a photo of the two of them several years later—Alphonse is strong and healthy in his body again while Pride is powerless in his)—which writes him out of the equation, if Pride ever must fight his way out of the city.

(Flame is steadily rising in the ranks, has recently become a general in Central, which is irritating but not impossible to get around. He is more annoyed at the fact that the man has regained his eyesight, rendering nearly useless Pride's sacrifice to get him to the Gate. Now, he is simply a more formidable alchemist without his need for arrays.)

But he's growing stronger and stronger and stronger and he knows that someday—someday _soon_—he will be powerful enough to take over this weakling's body. He has planned it for a decade and a half; the container is larger than he is used to but not unmanageable. He will eat people who will not be missed—the homeless and the poor and the lonely—and once he has amassed a sizeable Stone, he will strike.

Grumman—stupid man, far too old to be Fuhrer of such a prosperous country full of souls ripe for the taking—will be the first to fall. Flame will be next, as one of the most dangerous alchemists in the country…he knows how Lust and Envy both met their ends, and he would definitely prefer not to die in such a way.

(Of course, he doesn't prefer to die at all, and he _won't,_ not when he's been planning for so long in the solitude of his own head. His Father's plans may have failed, but the country was ready to strike back; now, Van Hohenheim is dead, the Elrics are long gone, and everyone else expects Selim Bradley to be nothing more than a teenage boy with a curious birthmark on his forehead.)

But they're wrong. He is so much more.

He isn't strong enough yet but his power is growing, and it is only a matter of time before he can take control, can destroy this country for destroying his Father's carefully-laid plans. He failed in the past, but he won't make the same mistakes again; he will sit and wait and plot and grow, and soon he will be stronger than ever before.

Soon, Selim Bradley will be a name feared throughout the nations; it will be the name parents will whisper to their children at night, hoping and praying that he will not strike their lands next. But he is not merciful; he is a Homunculus, the last of his kind, and he will not rest until he has paid back the humans for all they have done in full.

He is Pride, the first and the deadliest of sins, and he will never be destroyed. The humans worship him, after all—take pride in their accomplishments, in their race and their fellows and their mere survival. Without pride, humans would be nothing.

But they will be nothing because of him as well.


	16. Happy

**XVI. Happy**  
><em>-—All Gluttony needs is Lust.<em>

* * *

><p>Gluttony's never really understood what's going on around him.<p>

Pride is terrifying, and Greed is long gone; Envy is cruel, and Sloth is rarely around. (And Father has been talking recently of creating his last sin—Wrath. He isn't sure what kind of brother this will be, but…)

The only person he feels comfortable around is Lust. She is kind and patient and never raises her voice toward him; if he doesn't understand something, doesn't know what Father is trying to do or what their latest mission is supposed to accomplish, she always repeats it to him in simpler terms, so he can understand.

Even if Pride rolls his eyes and grits his teeth, and Envy roars in frustration and stalks off, he doesn't care…because he doesn't like them, doesn't like what they do and how they act. All that matters to him is Lust, and as long as she is here, he doesn't care what else is happening around him.

(He's never been sent on reconnaissance missions, where he has to interact with the humans in the world above…because he doesn't even understand how he and his brothers think, so how is he supposed to act like an entirely different species? But he goes with Lust whenever she is required on a mission, hides in the shadows and eats the evidence—he's always _so hungry—_and he watches and tries to learn.)

Because the humans are fascinating to him. He doesn't understand what they are, really; they're not like him and Lust and Father, but they look like Homunculi, and they eat just like he does and sleep just like Sloth. But they eat, and then they are not hungry; they sleep, and then they are not tired. How is that possible? He wants so desperately to know.

But his Father has given him strict orders _not_ to interact with the humans; he looks different, acts different, and this will surely put their plans into danger. Gluttony isn't sure why—because he's sure he's heard his brothers and his Father call the humans stupid and hardly worthy of notice—but his Father is smart and powerful and always knows best, so Gluttony does as he's told.

(But that doesn't mean he can't _wonder._)

He watches from an abandoned building as many humans trail past the window in a large group. Some are small, like Pride, and some are larger, like Lust and Greed. He doesn't know the difference, wonders why there is such variation between them… But he is quickly distracted from that train of thought as one of the small ones—a female, he thinks, because she has long hair like Lust—laughs loudly and pulls a taller man's hand into hers as they continue walking.

(Why is she laughing? There is nothing being accomplished; none of her set tasks have been completed; there is no food to eat and she has not just woken up from sleep…)

(What is there to smile about?)

He knows that people smile and laugh when they have done something good, when they are pleasing others and themselves by completing a task. But this girl has done neither of these things; all she is doing is walking along with the rest of the humans. What has she accomplished that could give her a reward?

He resolves to ask Lust about it when she comes back tonight.

.

.

The sky has turned dark by the time she returns. (It turned from blue to pink to orange to black, and he always finds himself entranced by it. Even though his Father is so powerful, Gluttony's never seen him do anything like this...he never tires of watching it happen.) Lust's eyebrows are pulled down down down into an unhappy expression as she slams the door behind her and stalks into the room.

He knows this means the mission is not going well, that something has gone wrong and she needs to rectify it before they can return to their Father. They will be staying here, then, in this building where nobody lives, until the problem is resolved and they can go back. (He never minds staying where the humans are, because there's something about the way the upper world smells that is infinitely better than Father's rooms underground… He knows Lust doesn't like it, though, so he hopes she fixes her problems soon.)

He walks toward her, putting his hand in his mouth as he always does when he's confused or nervous, and looks up into her eyes, trying to find out what has happened. "Lust?"

Her gaze snaps toward him, and her eyes are dark and angry; however, they quickly soften as she looks down at him. "We're going to have to stay here tonight…the warrant officer isn't cooperating as I hoped he would."

"Okay," he says, shrugging, because he doesn't want to make her think this upsets him. Maybe, that way, she will not be so angry. "Can I eat something soon?"

Her lips curl upward into what could almost be a smile, and she pats him on the head before saying, "There's some farms on the outskirts of town…we'll go out tonight and get you a couple of cows, all right?"

He nods, making an agreeable noise, and wanders over to the nearby table. Lust sits down opposite him, still looking more upset than normal, and Gluttony can only sit there, wondering how he can make her forget about the mission, at least for a little bit.

Then his thoughts from earlier spring to mind. "Hey, Lust," he begins slowly, pulling his hand from his mouth and looking at her across the table. "Why do the humans laugh so much?"

She seems caught off guard by the question, and her eyes widen a bit as she only stares back at him. So he does his best to elaborate, thinking back to the small female he had seen on the street—"I was watching some of them, and they laugh…even when they haven't done anything good…"

He tilts his head to the side, considering the scene in his memories. The humans' smiles had not been like the smiles Pride or Envy so often wore, when things were going their way; he can't figure out why it was different, but…

Lust exhales in understanding, and puts her head in one hand as the other drums on the table. "Well, as far as I can tell…they laugh when they're feeling happy. That doesn't just happen when they've accomplished a task, though…"

He considers this word—_happy._ The knowledge inherent within him gives a definition of it, but he doesn't think he understands…

"They worry about what happens to the other humans," she continues slowly. "If things are going well for the others, they consider it a personal victory as well."

How bizarre this is, Gluttony thinks, because Homunculi know that there is no such thing as _loyalty_ between brothers. If one has failed, the others give out the correct punishment; if another succeeds, there is only the knowledge that their plans have become closer to completion. Father has always told them not to care what happens to the others…

But he hasn't followed that order, he realizes suddenly. When Lust accomplishes something, he feels that he does as well; if she fails, as she has tonight…it is as though he is the one who must answer to Father's wrath.

Perhaps this is the word "happy" the humans use to describe themselves? Perhaps this is what causes laughter and smiles that have no source? Perhaps this connection he feels with Lust is one of the weaknesses humans don't realize they have…

But without this bond, what would he be? He knows he isn't as powerful as Pride or as strong as Sloth or as smart as Envy. All he can do is eat (which, admittedly, he is very good at), but nothing he does directly helps his Father's plans.

Without Lust, Gluttony realizes, he isn't much use to his Father at all.

But that isn't all; Lust always tells him he does a good job, even if he knows he has not; even when Pride and Envy and Father yell at him, punish him for ruining an assignment or failing something…afterward, Lust always smiles at him (it's never the same smile that the humans wear, but he thinks it's close enough) and tells him that _she _thinks he did well.

(And, he realizes, that's all he cares about, in the end. The others' harsh words fall off him like water, and all that matters is that _Lust thinks he did a good job._)

He doesn't know if this is the _happiness_ the humans experience; he doesn't know if this is a defect in his creation or simply something his siblings don't talk about…

But as he looks across the table at Lust, and tries to smile in the true, honest way the small human had, he realizes none of that matters…

Because as long as Lust is here, he thinks that will be enough for him.


	17. Fall

**XVII. Fall**_  
>-—All of his brothers are dead.<em>

* * *

><p>He's told himself over and over again, for <em>decades <em>now, that he doesn't care what happens to his so-called family.

Pride is an ass, and Envy's a bastard, and even if Lust is decent enough, he can't be around Gluttony for too long before he has the strong urge to kill someone. And Sloth's hardly around anyway...why even bother thinking about him?

In short, when he left one hundred years ago, he didn't look back—not for one second. He didn't care who would take the brunt of Father's anger, when he realized his third-born was not returning; he didn't care how this would impact their all-important plans for destroying the country, full of its strange humans and its beautiful sunsets; he only cared (_cares)_ about satisfying the all-consuming _desire_ deep within his core that he is sure will soon eat him alive.

Even now, in this new body, with its strange long hair and its small eyes and its toothy grin...he convinces himself that he is still only working for his own gain. He knows that Lust has fallen, that if he has defected again, he will likely have to aid in the destruction of more of his brethren. _(Tomorrow is the Promised Day.)_ He knows these things and still pretends he does not care—because as he watches the Elric boys fight with everything they have, and the chimeras charge a nigh-indestructible monster whose machinations they cannot hope to understand, and his vessel's companions fight and kill and nearly die just to keep their precious prince safe...

He knows that these humans, these lowly, unimportant_ humans,_ are more important to him than his siblings ever were.

(Or so, at least, he tells himself.)

(Maybe he just desperately desires that familial bond the humans seem to share so naturally, but he'd never admit it aloud.)

.

.

_Everything has gone to hell._

Lust is long dead. Gluttony is gone—consumed by Pride without a hint of remorse. Wrath is certainly near death, if not succumbed already; after all, his body does not have the restorative capabilities of the rest. (None of them ever thought he would need it.) Sloth, Envy...likely killed in battle, because they would be here otherwise. And if Edward Elric's presence above ground is any indication...Pride is destroyed as well.

(_He tells himself he does not care.)_

He_ shouldn't_ care, because he's lived his entire life with with no affection from his _family. _They were all so sure they didn't need it, after all. Affection is such a _human_ emotion...and if Father had gone to such great pains to remove his, surely none of them needed theirs, either.

But in the end, he and his brothers were those things so carefully groomed and then cast away, and maybe they all did need such things after all. Lust and Gluttony seemed to have realized as such; Wrath had his wife that he seemed genuinely fond of; Envy and Pride, likely, had been so ingrained in their hatred that they shunned such things just like their Father.

But how could he have been so blind? He lived with those chimeras, yes, but he never saw them as _brothers_. He never saw them as more than a means to an end (or so he told himself)...and even if, buried deep, he did see them as something like a family, he never had the chance to show it.

(They weren't like him, though. They were different—they had been cast out—but none of them were anything like him...because, at one point, they had all been human. He's never had those shreds of humanity to tie him down...and maybe that's why he's never felt truly _whole.)_

But his ramshackle, patchwork, _never-good-enough_ family was destroyed all those months ago in Dublith, and now his true _(true?)_ family is gone as well, so he'll never know, now will he? Because now, all that are left of the once-proud Homunculi—the only ones who could understand how he feels, if only they would _try—_are the deranged father and the prodigal son, long away from home but finally returned. (And he tells himself it doesn't hurt to see his Father fallen so far.)

He tells himself that he felt anything but utter horror at Gluttony's death. He tells himself he _does not care_ that the rest of his family is dead and gone, and he is the only one to remain. He tells himself the way his Father rips into his Stone, pulling out his very lifeblood and claiming it as his own, is not accompanied by an overwhelming sense of betrayal...

(Hohenheim has sons. Hohenheim has sons he would do anything for, whom he would never _dream_ of harming in such a way. So why does the man's blood-brother do such a terrible thing with no remorse? In the end, is he not his Father's son?)

His brothers are dead, and he is dying; this much is clear as he finally convinces Ling to let go, to condemn him to the fate that perhaps he deserves. His family is gone when they once thought themselves invincible, and he can feel himself fading to nothingness as the humans below look on, expressions of utter horror flooding their faces.

They are his soul-brothers, surely, and they are important to him...but none of them can truly _understand._ He is not human; he has never been human; he does not understand them, and he thinks _(as much as he needs that camaraderie)_ that he doesn't want to. His brothers are gone—the last creatures on this earth who could have ever understood him are _gone_—and so maybe he's embracing this death with open arms because he wishes to be gone as well. Soul-brothers—the dark and desperate desire for friendship that has burnt him from the inside out—are important and present and comforting, but in the end, he knows he'll never belong.

So when he grins down at Ling Yao and Edward Elric, it's not so much a comfort to them as a comfort to himself...because wherever he's going, maybe he and his brothers will finally understand.

Maybe, wherever he's going, he'll finally feel whole.


	18. Doppelgänger

**XVIII. Doppelgänger**  
>-—<em>Greed and Ling Yao could not be any more different.<em>

* * *

><p>It's strange, sharing a mind (soul) with a human...especially one like Ling Yao.<p>

He's almost intrigued, when he is first reborn and feels the presence of another—so _distinctly—_separate from the writhing mass that makes up his Philosopher's Stone. It's not like what he has experienced in the past, when his body was created around his existence; it's not even like Wrath, who has no recollection of his human life and does not recognize himself as anything but a Homunculus. But he—Greed—is some sort of hybrid, not quite Homunculus and not quite human, caught somewhere in between but simply expected to live with it.

He's not so much irritated as confused by this turn of events, because he's not sure how to handle this other being residing in his head. At first, it's easy enough to tune out the prince's ramblings about _morals_ and _friends_ and _soul bonds,_ though, because what does he know? He's not even lived for sixteen years, knows next to nothing of the world and the mechanisms that drive it, and Greed has more important things to do than listen to the self-righteous ramblings of a child.

But he realizes soon enough that pretending Ling isn't there will only drive him to talk more, try to gain his attention—or, at the very least, distract and annoy him until he gives in. (He's always been able to tune out the screams, but somehow, Ling is more _aware. _After all, Greed supposes, this is his body they're sharing...) So one day, crawling around the tunnels beneath Central and watching out for intruders in Father's home, he simply _listens._

And somehow, it's not as maddening as he had expected.

.

At first, Ling hates this monster that's taken over his body and deserted his friends.

He's in the country for a reason—a very _important_ reason, thank you, which will impact the lives of millions of Xingese citizens. He has no time for Greed's "duties to his Father" that have his body crawling around underground for days at a time. He agreed to absorb the Philosopher's Stone so he could take it back to his own father and gain favor with his kinsmen (and, of course, the throne); he did not agree to an inhuman creature taking over his body and using it to his own ends.

(If he were being rational, he would think that he couldn't have possibly expected anything else to happen...but, of course, he _isn't_ thinking rationally right now. After all, he doesn't know where Fu is, and Lan Fan is surely still recovering from her amputation, and _he needs to be there for them, _just like they've been there for him all these years.)

He takes to shouting these things to the empty nothingness within his soul (Philosopher's Stone), for that is all he is, now. A Xingese prince in line for the throne has been reduced to one wretched soul among hundreds, screaming his anguish and asking (not begging—but he will stoop to that if that is what it takes) for this monster to understand. He knows Greed doesn't listen to him, knows that, more than likely, he will _never_ listen and he will never see his friends again...

But he does not stop, because there is that sliver of a chance that it will make a difference. He needs to get back to his friends, to his family, and right now he is powerless to do so. He needs Greed to understand.

And one day, he thinks the Homunculus finally starts to listen.

.

They have come to some sort of an agreement; even if Greed has refused to leave the tunnels (his Father would be furious, and he has no reason to go—he does not remember the upper world of sunsets and trees and fresh air, and so he does not want for such things), he listens to what Ling says as the long hours go by.

Many of the emotions he speaks of are foreign to Greed, but he listens and thinks he's starting to learn.

It wouldn't be right to say that they understand each other. Greed doesn't know why these other humans are so important to Ling, and Ling doesn't know why Greed shows such blind loyalty to his Father. But acceptance is forming there, and they _try_ to understand. That, they think, will make some difference in their strange, warped lives.

(And when it all comes crashing down, when Greed murders one he has called _friend,_ Ling is there to pick up the pieces and help them start anew.)

.

Now, Ling can feel Greed's impatience, can feel his body vibrating in anticipation of making it to the surface. After days (weeks? It is impossible to tell) of living underground, he is almost terrified of what the sunlight will bring.

But when Greed (Ling) first steps out of the catacombs of his Father's home, nothing special happens. At least, nothing spectacular. But as Ling looks around in his confinement, surrounded on all sides by the writhing souls long-since resigned to a fate worse than death, he can sense something...else.

Greed has been living, all this time of sharing a body. He has breathed and slept and ate as his body required...but only now does Ling feel this body to be _alive._

The Philosopher's Stone_ (humans)_ around him seem almost more energetic as the whirlwind around his own soul continues, as if these shadows of men and women and children can sense that they are outside once again, that they are as free as they ever will be. They must be mirroring Greed's own reaction, Ling thinks, for while he can sense the Homunculus' general state of mind, he cannot properly understand his train of thought. Perhaps this is because he is human while Greed is something else. He does not know.

But they are outside again, and Greed is reluctantly agreeing to go search for his friends (though the frenzied rage that Ling can sense is barely contained, and he thinks that first they will be paying a visit to the Führer). Even if everything is not all right—will likely not be all right until the monsters still underground can be stopped—this is a step in the right direction.

And Ling thinks that eventually, given time, he might finally understand Greed, how he operates and why he is so driven to _want_ and _need _when so much larger things are on the line.

(And Greed would never admit it, but he is thinking the same thing.)


	19. Profanity

__(Do you know how hard i_t is to write humor centered around Pride, though?! It's ridiculous, I tell you, but I think I've succeeded!)_

* * *

><p><strong>XIX. Profanity <strong>_  
>-— Pride says something he shouldn't.<em>

* * *

><p>Suffice it to say, Pride has had a terrible day.<p>

Fourth grade would wear on _anyone's _patience, but today was worse than usual; he was roped into the class' play for the year, some asinine production called "A Christmas Carol." Though he put his foot down about playing _Tiny Tim, _the teacher still insisted on casting him as such, claiming he is just _perfect_ for the part.

Mother will be proud, he's sure. Wrath will laugh himself into insanity.

He stalks into the house after school is over for the day, exuding as much irritation as he can without breaking his charade. He discreetly checks around every corner to ensure Wrath's wife will not assault him, because he's not sure how much more _humanity _he can take for the day; he needs to either lock himself in his room or escape to the tunnels beneath Central for a few hours, allow himself to drop the facade and cool down before he _accidentally_ kills someone. After all, that would do nothing but hinder Father's plans.

To his great chagrin, though, human women seem to have a sixth sense for their younger counterparts, and his _mother_ comes up behind him just before he enters his room. "Selim!" she calls cheerfully, several feet behind him but hurrying closer. "How was your day, dear?"

Pride barely contains himself from dropping his act entirely, swearing fluently under his breath before turning to Wrath's wife, doing his best to plaster happiness onto his face. However, instead of the smile he's come to expect from the woman, her mouth has dropped open slightly, and her brows are shooting down in indignation as she stares at him.

He stares right back, the smile falling off his face as he looks at her in mild confusion. Not five seconds ago, she seemed perfectly happy to annoy him into near-destruction; now, she seems...angry? What for? Humans are so strange.

"_Selim!"_ she nearly shrieks, and Pride winces at the volume and proximity of her voice. "Where on Earth did you learn such language?"

_Oh. _That's right, small children aren't supposed to say such things. He's never really understood why—after all, words are words, and the best options should always be used to properly portray his opinions—but for some reason, to humans, some are _inappropriate_ for common use.

How could he have forgotten something so important? He wants to kick himself for being so humanly _idiotic._

"I'm sorry, Mother," he says, injecting as much contriteness into his tone as he possibly can. "I've just—not had a very good day, and was hoping I could take a nap before supper."

His attempted diversion does not faze her; she's still glaring harshly down at him, crossing her arms over her chest, and he knows he will not be getting out of this so easily. He has to forcefully swallow down the urge to _kill something_ as she replies, "I want to know where you heard those terrible words, young man—because I know it wasn't from me! Do I need to have a talk with your father? Or perhaps your teachers? This is completely unacceptable—"

"No, it wasn't any of them," he assures her quickly, because he _definitely_ doesn't want to have this conversation with Wrath today. "I don't remember—it might have been some of the soldiers when I visited Central Command..."

He hopes this is an acceptable excuse, that she will drop it with only a stern warning not to speak in such a way again. She continues glaring down at him for several more moments, and he has to school his features carefully to ensure his facade doesn't slip. She's intelligent—for a human—and probably won't miss something like that.

"We will discuss this with your father when he comes home," she says finally, though the angry crease in her brow shows she's not happy with his explanation. "Make sure you don't say such things again, young man, or I'll wash your mouth out with soap."

"Yes, Mother," Pride says, acting contrite, but watches her from the shadows as she disappears around the corner, down the stairs, and into the living room.

If she ever dares to try such a thing, he won't hesitate to rip her apart.

.

.

Wrath, when he comes home that evening, is in an exceptionally good mood.

Pride cannot fathom why, but when his brother sweeps into the kitchen, pulling his wife into a quick hug (which is rare in and of itself), Pride can barely contain his temper. And when Wrath turns to him, cheery mask still in place, and asks how his day went, Pride nearly snaps then and there.

(Why has this put him in such a terrible mood? Such petty things as a human's irritation with his language should not bother him so. In fact, it shouldn't bother him at all. He is _above_ humans—they are _weak—_they do not at all matter—)

"We actually need to discuss that, dear," Wrath's wife says, her lips pulling down into a frown as she turns to look at both of them. "Selim—well, Selim said some things earlier that a child his age should never say."

"Oh?" Wrath says, sounding interested, raising his eyebrows as he looks to Pride in question. "And what might that be?"

His _mother_ doesn't seem about to inform him, so Pride heaves a sigh, barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, and says in a falsely-contrite voice, "I had a terrible day at school, and I used some—some _words_ that I think I must have heard from some of the soldiers. I realize it was inappropriate."

No apologies, of course, as he's done nothing wrong. But his tone seems to satisfy Wrath's wife, for she nods her approval before turning back to the stove. Wrath's eyebrows have risen even higher on his head, something that might almost be a smirk pulling on the sides of his mouth. Pride's scowl only darkens, _daring_ his brother to say anything. They have to play house here, yes, and he can't give retribution yet, but...

"Well, I'm astonished that any of my soldiers were so impolite as to use such language around such a small child," Wrath says after a moment, ruffling Pride's hair (their shadows twitch threateningly, and Wrath quickly retracts his hand) before turning to his wife, "I'm sure he's learned his lesson. He'll have to hear such words someday, after all—he's a growing boy, and teenagers speak like that all the time!" He chuckles, walking away from Pride _(giving him an escape)_ before continuing, "Why, I've told you of the Fullmetal Alchemist boy, haven't I? He..."

Pride doesn't wait to hear the rest of the conversation; satisfied that Wrath has successfully diverted any sort of inane human punishment, he slips away, back up the stairs, and does not return until his _mother_ calls him for supper.

He doesn't know whether he's more irritated about Wrath's wife being upset with him, or the fact that he still has to act in that _damn_ play, but either way, he's in a foul mood for the rest of the night.

.

.

And when Wrath and his wife find out exactly what happened at school today, their reactions are just as expected; her face lights up, all ire forgotten, and promises to help him with the script; his face shows a mask of pleasant surprise, carefully hiding the hysteria buried just beneath...

And when Envy comes up to him the next day, asking slyly whether _Tiny Pride_ would mind his siblings attending the show, he does not hesitate in literally tearing him apart.


	20. Preface

**XX. Preface**  
><em>-—He is nothing, and then he is everything, and that makes all the difference.<em>

There is nothing and there is everything and he is caught somewhere in between, hating every moment of it.

Seconds are minutes are years are _millennia_ and everything is the same—everything is always the same—and though he has never seen anything different he knows _different_ must exist. It must, because his mind knows it to be so, but how can he possibly know anything when all he's ever lived is this emptiness surrounding him?

He is superior and inferior and formless and well-defined; he is brilliant and foolish and wishes more than anything else to be _free. _Freedom is an abstract concept (just like everything else, because _nothingness_ is all he's ever known) that he thinks sounds pleasant, in which he can choose to stay or go or remain hidden in the darkness of his own existence or throw himself into something he has never experienced before.

The rest of creation, he supposes, is where he would go, because that is where he is not and where he would like to be. He knows everything about it, knows the _Truth_ of every iota of that universe, but he does not _know. _He has Truth but not knowledge, has answers but none of the right questions…and if he had a chance to gain what he lacks, he would take it in an instant.

He _hates_ it here, though he doesn't think he knows what "hate" truly is.

His thoughts are his entire being (_emotions_ are abstract and impossible, and he finds them difficult to understand so writes them off quickly even as he thinks he feels them himself), and he clings to these views with everything he has, evaluates them and refines them over and over and over until he knows them absolutely, knows them for sure, and is so convinced of his beliefs that he knows he will never be swayed. His thoughts are these:

That he knows, but does not _know, _and this is unacceptable_;_

That whatever power is keeping him here is great and terrible;

That this existence is nothing, so whatever is elsewhere must be _everything._

He is logical and precise and wholly engrossed in the inadequacy of his non-being; he is a perfect creation (though he knows not of his origins, simply that he has always existed, here) but everything about him is wrong.

He wants _more._

The universe exists and it must be wonderful, but it is separate from him and so far beyond his reach. He is imprisoned here, his only crime his very existence, taught everything there is to know and yet left so _wanting_ that he thinks there must be a reason for such torture.

(There must be, mustn't there? He wouldn't have been created only to be left so unfulfilled, right?)

(Right?)

There is an unreachable universe full of knowledge he wants—_needs_—to take for himself. As time (such a fickle thing, it could be seconds or it could be centuries and he has no way of telling the difference) goes on, he is restless and anxious and impatient and more than anything, he wants_ more._

There have been brushes of _something_ at the edges of his consciousness, as of late. Such a thing is new and interesting and so he latches onto it with no intention of letting go, holds tight to this new source of knowledge (power) and does his best to learn what he can of it.

Perhaps it is liberation—perhaps damnation—perhaps something in between or nothing at all. But it is strange and wonderful and _new,_ and so when it becomes more palpable, he seizes his chance and _pulls._

There is a sensation that he knows of and yet has never experienced, a _pressure_ that is uncomfortable and growing steadily, as the _something_ pulls as well, though closer or further away he has no way of knowing. Then, there is nothing, and there is everything, and then he knows more than he ever has.

He is superior and inferior and formless and well-defined and brilliant and foolish but he is so much more, now—he is different_,_ he is special, and he is finally, finally _free._

And when he opens his eyes, exists as more than _nothing_ for the very first time, the whole world begins anew.


End file.
